Guess who wrote this story and win a jewelry piece from Toni Pacini.

The rules are simple. Read the story and the first person to guess wins. Have fun.

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Why I Don’t Date

I don’t often date. Here are some of the reasons why: There are stages to the dating process. At first, a young man is attracted to your looks. A little later, he’s eyeing you with a view as to whether or not you will be useful to his career. The next stage involves your money, as in do you have any. At last, he wants to know can you drive and do you have nursing skills.

A young guy tells you about his dreams, his plans, and his aspirations. Older men regale you with tales of their cholesterol count and latest prostate exam. Here are some off my personal experiences in the elder dating scene.

One fellow, returning from the men’s room at a nice restaurant cheerily announced, “False alarm.” Now, truthfully, the only time I care to hear these words is when the fireman declares, “Don’t worry there’s No fire.”

Another first date’s opening line was, “What do you know about type two diabetes?”
I confessed, “Not much.” Sorry I said that! He spent the rest of the two-hour date, “educating me.” I suddenly recalled having a late evening appointment for root canal. (Actually, by then I needed a frontal lobotomy)

I told one date that I had spent the day critiquing stories written by first time writers. He shared the fact that he had stayed home collecting urine samples. Well I guess, we all need hobbies.

There was one fellow I did see about four times. I called him Blinky.(not to his face, of course) He told me he formed the habit of blinking as a child when his mother slapped him for any wrongdoing and then slapped him again if he cried. Also, he huffed, sort of like the big bad wolf, huffing and puffing. Maybe, I reasoned, his mother held him under water when she got tired of slapping him and he learned to huff to catch his breath. I believe I went out with him because of the novelty of waiting to see what he would next call me, since he couldn’t remember my name. Donna, Doris, and Darnell were among the names he tried out. At least they all started with D. Actually, I rather favored Darnell.
One evening, he called his son. “I’m calling to tell you I’m having dinner with Darnell and I won’t be able to call you tonight.” When he hung up I said, “You know, my name isn’t Darnell, its Dulcinea.” ( I can be a bit of a bitch.)

Another novelty was his driving. It was like going on an amusement park ride without the expense of a ticket. We routinely rode with one set of tires atop the divider bumps. I was never sure if this was to provide direction or keep him awake. He often stopped in the middle of the road. When I asked him why, he would point to a car at a side street and declare, “He stopped so I stopped.” Well of course! Curbs and lawns were fair game as was accidentally putting the car in reverse at odd times. In time, I had to let Blinky go, my nerves can only take so much.

On our first, last and only date, one man took me to a Chinese restaurant for dim Sum. Over dinner, he shared with me the fact that due to an operation, when he climaxed the fluid went back into his body and did not eject. Be still my heart! Could he have waited until desert to impart this too personal tidbit of information?
Many older men abandon dressing with care. Miss-matched shirts and pants, socks that don’t go with the outfit or with each other for that matter are common. Or, the white socks syndrome. Why do some guys think that white socks go with everything?

My last date arrived with his zipper down, a tiny piece of his red shirt protruding. Now, I have to tell you it’s embarrassing to tell a man you have just met that he needs to zip up but when I mentioned it as politely as I could, to this gentleman instead of a quiet, “thanks”
or just turning to zip, he barked, “Oh, a crotch watcher!”

Any wonder so many of my dates were both first and last?”

(c)

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